The Amell Rose
by Michelle Clover
Summary: The story about the meeting of Leandra Amell and Malcolm Hawke, and the details of their eventual escape from Kirkwall. AU and part of the Embracing Destiny Universe. Rated M for a reason. Also includes Meredith/Larius pairing
1. Chapter 1

Larius rested the weight of his upper body on his forearms as he leaned over the bridge overlooking a dusty, dried up riverbed. Even though the High Constable had told Senior Warden Kern that the mission they were sent on was of the highest priority, Kern still insisted on making camp the night before they were to reach their final destination. It was barely past dawn. Most of the valley between the foothills of that area of the Vinmark Mountains was still in darkness, but that didn't stop it from already being unbearably hot.

A southwestern breeze picked up long enough to blow dust and sand into Larius's azure eyes and ruffle his chestnut brown hair. He blinked several times in order to get his tear ducts working to remove the offending grains before heaving a sigh that caused his broad shoulders and barrel chest to rise and fall with the effort. He had hoped that the trip to the Vinmarks would be a pleasant change from the arid steppes of the Anderfels, but in that particular place, it seemed to be more of the same. Everything in the valley was as dry and dead as all the other desert-like regions in Thedas which had been tainted by the Blights. Growing up, he never thought he would miss the stink of fish and saltwater that permeated everything in the coastal city of Jader, but after nine years in the Anderfels, he would give anything to go back.

"Something wrong, Larius?" Janeka asked as she joined him on the bridge.

He turned his head and gave her a tight-lipped smile. Janeka was always full of questions, which annoyed Larius to no end. It had only been seven months since she underwent the Joining and for some reason beyond his comprehension, she had decided that she wanted Larius to be her mentor. Barely past adolescence, she wasn't an ugly girl by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, with her clear, olive complexion, curious bright green eyes and thick, shoulder-length hair that curtained her face in waves of the darkest, richest brown, most men would have called her stunning. Yet, there was just something about her that rubbed Larius the wrong way. But no matter how many times he tried to pawn her onto one of the other Wardens, she just wouldn't leave him alone.

"No, just enjoying the weather."

She snorted a laugh, apparently finding the older Warden's sarcasm funnier than what he intended. He leaned into the bridge further before rolling his eyes just out of her sight. "It's not so bad, Larius. Not any worse than the Anderfels, anyway."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel whole lot better, Jan."

Another laugh. Larius hoped to the Maker that Kern would give the order to pull out soon so he would have an excuse to get away from the girl. A few minutes later, it seemed that Larius's prayers were answered when Roland came to inform them that it was time to leave. Unfortunately, Janeka wasn't willing to let Larius off the hook so easily. As they marched toward the hidden prison deeper into the valley, she fell in step next to him.

"So what do you think we'll find when we get there?" she questioned.

He shrugged. "Who knows? Probably nothing."

"I heard Kern say that the Commander hasn't sent a report in months."

Larius continued to keep his eyes on the road ahead in hopes that if he seemed disinterested enough in their conversation that she would tire of talking to him and move on to Roland or Alec. "Maybe he just got busy and forgot."

"Forgot?" she balked. "How could a Commander of the Grey just forget to report to Weisshaupt?"

He scowled. "It was a joke, Jan. Don't get your smalls in a twist."

Janeka smiled sheepishly and tucked a wisp of hair behind her left ear. "Oh…sorry."

"It's okay, Jan" Larius sighed. "Nothing to be sorry about."

"So what do you really think is down there?"

"I don't have the foggiest," he admitted. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

Larius hoped that would be the end of it, but as usual, Janeka continued to prattle on, stuck to his side like glue until they arrived at the outer gates of the prison. She probably wouldn't have even stopped then if Kern hadn't called for them to be quiet. Something was definitely wrong. Normally the area would have been guarded by at least a half dozen Wardens, but there was no one there and the iron bars were open wide to allow anyone who happened by entry.

Kern's deep brown eyes darted back and forth as he tried to detect any hint of movement or sound. He scratched at the salt and pepper stubble at his chin a moment as his face took on a grimace which deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Resolved to press on, he finally motioned with his hand for the rest of them to follow as he headed toward the carved stone archway. When they got to the barracks outside the prison entrance, they found more of the same. Not one living soul, only the eerie silence of a completely abandoned outpost.

"What happened here?" the Senior Warden mumbled.

"Perhaps we should venture further in?" Larius offered.

"I don't think we have much choice in the matter," he agreed. "We need to find out what happened to everyone. I want you all to stay close. Whatever is going on, I don't want any of you trying to play the hero. We'll search for clues then get the hell out of here as fast as possible. I don't think I want to be here when night falls."

Larius got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had known Kern since he joined the Grey Wardens. In fact, the Senior Warden was the one recruited him, and he had never heard an ounce of fear in the man's voice until that very moment. Kern moved out in front of the small procession once more and led them toward the entrance of the prison. The six Wardens had just barely made it inside, when Kern dropped to one knee to examine what looked to have once been a body dressed in a scout's uniform.

The Senior Warden shook his head. "Maker's mercy. This man has been ripped open from stem to stern."

Janeka's green eyes went wide, her face ashen from fear. "Who in the Maker's name could have done such a thing? And why?"

"I think you mean, what" Kern corrected.

"Darkspawn?" Larius asked.

The Senior Warden nodded. "I'm sure of it."

"But how?" the younger man wondered. "The other Wardens would have seen any spawn approaching from the desert and I thought any inside the prison were trapped by the seals."

"What seals?" Janeka questioned.

Before he could answer her, out of the corner of his eye, Larius caught sight of young Dursten gadding about the room as if in some sort of trance. "Dursten?" he queried, but the other man continued on as if no one else was present. Larius snapped his fingers. "Dursten!" he shouted. Still no change. He stepped around the younger Warden, grabbed him by the shoulders and began shaking him. "Dursten! Snap out of it!"

Dursten blinked his eyes as the man holding him came into focus. "Larius? Do…do you hear it? The voice?"

Larius stopped for a moment to listen. Although he heard nothing beyond Dursten's heavy breathing with his ears, it seemed as if someone was speaking to him inside his head, telling him to venture further inside the prison. He turned to Kern. "He's right. There's a…a voice…inside my head."

Alec breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought it was just me. I didn't want to say anything because I thought I might have been losing my mind."

"Is it an archdemon?" Roland questioned.

"No," Kern replied wearily. "It's the reason this prison was built in the first place. It's Corypheus."

"Corypheus?" Janeka asked. "Who or what is Corypheus?"

"Many years ago, shortly after the first Blight, a Grey Warden named Sashamiri came across a darkspawn named Corypheus, who was said to be one of the original magisters that attempted to infiltrate the Golden City. Once Corypheus was captured and bound, Sashamiri and other Wardens tried to interrogate him, but they soon found that the spawn had the ability to influence those with the taint, not unlike an archdemon. Corypheus used that influence to create chaos among his Warden captors. It was a bloodbath. Those that managed to resist and escape were found wandering the desert some time later, dazed and unable to recall anything about the experience. Fortunately, a journal written by Sashamiri himself was found on one of the men so that no other Wardens would be sent into the area blind.

"Untainted dwarves from Orzammar were commissioned to fashion a proper stronghold for such a dangerous beast. Once the prison had been built and Corypheus isolated in the tower, a non-Warden mage was sent in to create seals to bind the spawn and the demons he called forth for eternity. Once the seals were in place, other Wardens were sent back into the area to guard it from the outside world."

"But how were those Wardens able to resist Corypheus's influence?" Alec asked.

"The seals prevented Wardens who had not previously been 'indoctrinated', as they called it, from being influenced by Corypheus's call. They would hear it, but they wouldn't feel the need to do his bidding."

"Like an archdemon," Larius added.

"Yes," Kern confirmed. "Only one Warden who had been there before the prison was completed ever stepped foot inside the place after it was built and he was lost after he crossed the first barrier in an effort to free the spawn."

"What do you mean lost?" questioned Janeka. "He just disappeared?"

"No. The seals are designed to allow anyone to enter through the barrier, but once inside, they are unable to come back out. It was a safeguard put in place for just such an event."

"So that's why the Wardens still maintain watch over the prison?" Roland queried. "To prevent anyone outside the Wardens from getting trapped?"

"Not exactly," Kern replied. "You see, the mind of any other tainted being could still be controlled by Corypheus, something the Wardens discovered quite quickly after a nasty incident with a dwarf who had contracted the taint after a run-in with some darkspawn down in the depths of the prison before the barriers were raised."

"But _we _should be safe, right?" asked Dursten.

Kern scowled. "We need to go further in…to check the main barrier." He turned to the others. "Let's move out."

The knot in Larius's stomach just continued to worsen the farther they ventured into the prison. And then there was the voice that continually got louder and louder. Instead of being in her usual place at Larius's side, Janeka was in the rear of the file. In fact, all three of the younger Wardens seemed to be lagging behind. Larius wondered to himself if the fact that they were all newly joined was causing them to consider heeding the ancient darkspawn's call.

"Come on," he growled over his shoulder. "Keep up you lot."

The passageways twisted and turned and seemed to go on forever. Just as Larius began to wonder exactly how far underground they were going to have to travel before they came to the first barrier, Kern held up a fist to halt his charges.

"The first barrier should be right there, within that steel reinforcement." He turned his attention to Janeka. "Alright, sweetheart, you're up."

A flash of indignation appeared in the young woman's green eyes at being addressed in such a manner, but she chose to keep her thoughts to herself as she approached the archway. "What is it exactly that I'm supposed to be doing?" she questioned in a huffy tone.

"I need you to touch the metal to see if any magic remains attached to it," Kern explained.

Janeka gave him a curt bow of the head before approaching the place where barrier should have been. She slowly reached out her hand and Larius took note of how much her fingers were trembling. Once her fingertips were as close as they could be without actually making contact, the young mage sucked in a deep breath and gave a short tap to the steel before withdrawing her hand as if it were on fire. Her head cocked to one side as her brows furrowed. She examined the archway with her eyes for a long moment then tapped the metal once more. Three more times she banged her fingertips against the archway before placing her palm directly on it and running it up and down the length of both the stone and the steel. She finally turned to the others and shook her head. "Not even a trace of magic…of any kind."

Kern closed his eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath. "That's what I was afraid of." He addressed the others. "There's nothing else for it then. We'll have to keep going to find out just how many of the seals have been broken."

And so, they began their trek within the prison, finding broken seal upon broken seal. The only ones that seemed to still be intact were those that were holding several abominations within their confines, but the barriers leading to the tower were all gone. Along the way, they were forced to fight several darkspawn that had apparently chosen to stay within the deep tunnels. They also found what appeared to have once been a small dwarven settlement, more than likely the temporary homes of the dwarves that built the prison, abandoned for centuries. The one thing they didn't see along the way was a Grey Warden, not one, not even a sign that there had ever even been a Grey Warden there.

When they finally arrived at the entrance to the tower where Corypheus was bound, they found that barrier gone as well. When they stepped inside the small chamber, Larius took note of four golden griffon statues that surrounded the chamber. The statues seemed to have some sort of amber mist with large flecks of gold streaming from their mouths to a large pedestal in the center of the room. The pedestal itself was made of heavy stone and a warm golden light shone from the two long trenches that crossed each other at a bowl-like dip in the middle.

Kern put a hand to his heart and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the Maker. At least these seals are still holding."

No sooner had the Senior Warden's words left his mouth, when a deep voice sounded from the shadows next to one of the statues at the far end of the chamber. "For now."

Out of the darkness stepped an elf dressed in Warden Armor denoting his position as Commander of the Grey. His lids were narrowed into slits over a pair of moss green eyes. His platinum blonde hair flowed freely down to the middle of his back over a pair of twin blades whose handles jutted out right above his shoulders.

Kern had already removed the broadsword from his back and had it at the ready before the elf could even be seen. Upon realizing the identity of the other man, he put the tip of his weapon to the stone next to his feet. "Airador, thank the Maker your alive. You're the first Warden we've seen since we found the dead scout at the entrance."

Airador's lips turned up into a wistful, albeit slightly deranged smile. His eyes wandered about the open space above his head as he seemed to take in the stars without really seeing them. "The others? Yes…they are about…somewhere."

While the elf was distracted by his own musings, Kern once again brought his blade to the ready before giving his fellows the nod to follow his lead. "Airador? What's going on?"

The elf turned his attention back to Kern, the deranged grin never leaving his face. "Can you not hear him? He calls to us…beckons us from his slumber. He will reveal all…all of his secrets." Airador approached the pedestal, fell to his knees and lovingly ran his hand across the lettering etched into its side. "But we must be patient. We must wait until the last of these infernal seals are broken. Then the master will be free…Then he will show us…Then he will guide us."

"Airador!" Kern bellowed. "Snap out of it man!"

The elf peered up from his place on the floor. His face twisted into an angry grimace. "Who are you? Why do you disturb me?"

Larius could see by the expression on Kern's face that he was beyond worried. The Senior Warden took a tentative step forward. "Maker's Balls, Ari. What in the bloody hell is wrong with you? It's me, Kern. You presided over my Joining. You trained me, for Andraste's sake!"

"This is a sacred place," the elf hissed, as if he hadn't heard a word Kern said. He rose to his full height then pulled his weapons. "If you are not here to honor the master and await his glorious return, you need to go back to whence you came or face his terrible wrath."

The Senior Warden slowly took several steps back. Though Airador did not sheath his blades, he seemed satisfied by Kern's actions enough to let his guard down as he dropped to his knees once again. Kern motioned for the others to move onto the bridge outside of the chambers. Once he was sure they were out of the elf's earshot, he glanced in Airador's direction then began speaking. "We're going to have to do something about him."

"Maybe if we can figure out a way to get him out of here, get him to the surface and away from the prison, he'll recover his senses," Janeka suggested.

Kern gave a nod. "That's my hope, but…the way he's acting, that may not be a possibility."

"Well we can't just kill him," Alec insisted. "He's a Commander."

"We may not have a choice," Kern told him.

"So what do we do if the other Wardens show up?" Roland questioned.

During the conversation, Larius was trying to keep an eye out for just such an occurrence. As if in answer from some divine force, he spotted the glint of silver upon an outcropping of rock just below the west side statue of Corypheus's chamber. The others began asking where he was wandering off to as he approached the stone barrier of the span.

"I have a feeling we don't need to worry about the other Wardens," he surmised in a faraway voice. "It seems that the Commander has killed them all."

His fellows ran to his side to determine the truth of his words themselves. Janeka gasped when she saw all of the uniformed bodies littering various areas of the canyon below. With all of those that could be seen with the naked eye within the light of the full moon, there was no telling how many others had fallen deeper into the chasm.

Kern shook his head, his jaw clenched with determination. He didn't even wait for the others as he marched back into the chamber. "Airador Vaneth!" he roared with anger. "As Senior Warden and now surviving ranking officer of this post, I charge you with both murder and treason to the order of the Grey Wardens. You are hereby relieved of your command until such time that a tribunal can be held to determine your guilt or innocence."

Airador's eyes went wide with shocked indignation before he broke out into maniacal laughter. "Do you not yet understand? You pitiful little worm. I no longer care for your order or your command. My life is bound to the master. I live to serve only him and the gods of the Imperium."

"Then you will die in your service to your heathen gods, traitor!" Kern seethed before rushing headlong toward the elf.

Airador dodged the attack before spinning on his heel and pummeling the Senior Warden with the blunt end of the dagger that he held in his right hand. Kern twisted in an effort to knock the elf's feet out from under him, but he leapt out of the way at the last second before impact.

When the fighting broke out, the four youngest Wardens among them fell to the stone floor, hands on their heads, writhing in pain. Larius felt it too, the stinging prickle of a thousand tiny needles poking into his brain, but in his years as a Warden he had learned to fight against the pain that came with the taint and the faraway call of the archdemon. He hurried to the west side of the chamber, sticking to what little shadow the room offered. When he found obscurity behind the first golden griffon, he waited for only a moment before venturing out and sliding along the walls until he reached the next. There he bided his time, looking for an opening to catch Airador off guard.

He watched the two men in the center of the room locked in heated combat. Both of them had sustained minor injuries from the blade of the other, but nothing life threatening thus far. Airador and Kern were circling each other, each man waiting for the perfect opportunity to best his opponent. The Senior Warden locked eyes with Larius. The older man's deep brown orbs were filled with deadly resolve and Larius was immediately aware that it was Kern's plan to sacrifice himself in order to give Larius the distraction he needed to take the Commander down. The younger Warden shook his head vehemently, doing his best in his silence to tell Kern that they could find another way.

Airador, apparently realizing someone was behind him, began to turn his head to locate the threat waiting in the shadows, when Kern gave a mighty cry and charged forward. The elf circled back just in time to shove his dagger into the Senior Warden's gut, jam it up into his lungs and twist it with a flick of his wrist. Larius had to fight the urging of the voice inside his head to remain where he was. His body seemed to detach from his brain as his legs carried him out into the open. As he ran, as if by pure instinct alone, his arms lifted his sword high above his right shoulder. Just as Airador was pulling his dagger free of Kern's body, Larius's blade found its target at the base of the Commander's neck, sending the elf's head flying through the air until it bounced against the eastern griffon statue.

Airador's limp body crumpled to the stone in a heap atop Kern. Larius kicked it away before falling to his knees at the side of his rapidly expiring superior. In desperation, the younger Warden called out to Janeka to come help Kern, but she was unable to hear him as she was still locked within the throes of the torture inside her own mind. Rivulets of crimson spilled out onto the Senior Warden's silver chest plate as he opened his mouth to speak. He sputtered and coughed before spitting out a mouthful of blood in an effort to clear his maw long enough to give his final command.

"You are...in command…now," he managed between rattling gasps. "Commander…Grey…Get them…out." He pulled in a shallow, gurgling breath. "Repair…seals…Gallows."

Larius bobbed his head in understanding. He knew exactly what Kern meant. It was up to him and him alone to find an untainted mage in the nearby city of Kirkwall, a mage that would be able to repair the seals and reconstruct the barriers. He clapped a fist to his heart and gave a final bow of his head to his captain as Kern's lids fluttered and then finally opened wide, announcing his passage through the Veil.

He quietly reached up and closed the Senior Warden's eyes. Corypheus's voice inside his head was growing louder, more insistent. He had to get away from that place before he ended up a blubbering madman like Airador. Larius placed Kern's sword upon his chest and folded the man's lifeless hands over the hilt before retrieving a vial of oil and flint from the pouch on his belt. He worked as quickly as possible as he removed the breastplate of Airador's uniform and ripped a large piece of his undertunic away. He then retrieved Janeka's staff from the floor, wrapped the cloth around it, and doused it with oil. He poured the remaining liquid onto Kern's body, sparked a fire onto the makeshift torch and set the corpse aflame.

Without so much as a glance behind him, he hurried to the others. After several hard smacks to the cheeks, Roland was the first to gain his senses. Larius ordered him to help Alec and Dursten while he scooped Janeka up into his arms and carried her out. The further away they ventured from the tower, the less prominent the voice became. Janeka finally awoke just before they reached the outer doors of the prison and was able to manage walking on her own once they reached the barracks.

It was midday before they passed through the outer gates, but Larius did not dare stop. He wouldn't allow himself to stop until the voice of the monster inside his head had dissipated completely. It wasn't until they reached the bridge over the dried up riverbed where they had made camp the night before entering the prison that he finally brought his small company to a halt. Even though they had gone an entire day without food or sleep, Larius only allowed them a short rest before they were on the move again. They walked until the sun had disappeared along with the shadow of the wretched mountain that housed that infernal place.

When they made camp that evening, Larius informed the others that he would be going to Kirkwall alone while they were to travel back to Weisshaupt and report back to the High Constable about what had taken place. With any luck, Larius would be able to find the information he needed in Kirkwall to perform the ritual that would replace the prison's barriers. If that went as planned, then all he would need was to get the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall to cooperate with him by allowing him to take one of the Circle mages with him to perform the ritual. If that didn't work, then he would just have to find an apostate to help him…or kidnap one of the Circle mages. Either way, it made little difference to Larius. As the new Commander of the Grey in that part of the Free Marches, he would do whatever he must to ensure that Corypheus would never again see the light of day.


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you hear the news about Revka?" Emilita Amell asked her family as they sat around the table for afternoon tea.

Teatime was always Leandra's mother's favorite time of the day. No matter who she was with, it gave her the chance to enjoy her favorite pastime, gossip. Emilita was always current on the latest news and happenings in Kirkwall. If anyone wanted to know anything about the city's nobility, she was the first one they would ask. It was one of the things that made her so popular among the elite. Among her peers, she was considered the very model of a highborn lady.

Leandra's father had met Lady Emilita de Montfort during one of his many trips to Orlais in his youth. They were introduced by her distant cousin Meghren at a ball celebrating her cousin Ser Bastien's marriage to the Lady Corinne. Although Aristide Amell was considered a minor noble by Orlesian standards, Duke Michel de Montfort allowed Aristide to court and eventually marry his youngest daughter. Two years after their wedding, Leandra was born, followed by her brother Gamlen three years later.

Emilita was the mother whom all of the other noble daughters in Kirkwall wished they had. A woman in her early forties, she was even more beautiful than in her wedding picture that hung over the mantle in the sitting room. Even the small strands of silver that glinted throughout her thick, dark auburn hair, which she wore in a loose bun at her crown with soft ringlets framing her face, added to her striking appearance. Her skin was the color of purest alabaster and her facial features delicate. A pair of haunting silver-blue eyes and a petite figure completed the stunning package that was Emilita Amell.

Aristide took a sip of his tea before replacing the small cup onto its saucer. With the size of her father's hands, Leandra often wondered how he managed to keep from breaking the fragile porcelain. He wasn't exactly a tall man, a bit shorter than average many would say, but he was quite stocky. Not fat by any stretch of the imagination, but broad shouldered and muscular. In many ways, Leandra inherited more of her father's traits than her mother's. Her jawline and cheeks were more rounded than Emilita's and her chin broader. Her nose also more closely resembled the Amell side of heritage, and like Aristide, her hair was completely strait and colored a dark, rich brown. Her brow, full lips and eyes, however, were inherited from her mother, including the color.

"Did she finally have the child?" Aristide asked.

Emilita nodded. "Yes, a girl this time."

"What did cousin Revka name her?" Leandra questioned.

"Erin, if you can believe it," her mother replied with an expression that made it appear that she had just finished sucking on a lemon. "Such a common name."

"Well, I just hope this one turns out to be normal," Aristide remarked, a hint of disdain shining in his bright, emerald green eyes.

"Yes," Emilita agreed. "Two already with the curse. If this one turns out to be like the others, Revka should really consider sterilization before she brings more shame to the Amell family name."

Leandra jumped when she heard the sound of a pair of heavy fists slam down on the table so hard it caused it to shake and spill tea all over the ivory linen cloth. She turned her head to see her younger brother glaring at their parents, his blue eyes full of animosity and indignation. Gamlen was forever getting into arguments with Aristide and Emilita about injustices forced upon one group of people in Kirkwall or another. If it wasn't the mages, it was the foreign merchants. If it wasn't the foreign merchants it was the poor. Leandra always admired her brother's ability to speak his mind, which he did quite often. She only wished she had the same courage, then maybe she wouldn't be stuck with a betrothal to a man she loathed.

"Is something on your mind, dear?" Emilita questioned in an overly sweet tone.

"You know bloody damn well what's on my mind," Gamlen barked angrily.

"Language, dear" their mother scolded.

The younger man ran his fingers through his thick, dark auburn hair in frustration. His tone softened to a reticent plea when he asked, "Do you ever listen to yourselves? A new baby in the family should be celebrated. It should never be another opportunity for you to look down on others. What would you have done if Leandra and I would have been born with magic? Would you have just pretended to have never bore us because we would have been too big an embarrassment to your high society friends?" He stood up and shook his head angrily, the fire shining in his eyes once again, and threw his napkin down on the table. "I am so tired of everyone treating magic like it's some sort of bloody disease."

"Gamlen, you know very well that Chantry law…" Emilita began.

"Hang Chantry law!" he bellowed. "The subjugation of mages is a crime against humanity. Those laws are both antiquated and unjust. The only reason the Chantry locks up those with the gift is because it is afraid that freeing them will tip the balance of power and the people of Thedas will discover the Chant is horseshit."

Emilita gasped in shock at those words. "Gamlen! That is blasphemy!"

"Better I be a blasphemer than a stuck up pretentious snob like the rest of you," he growled before whirling around and stomping toward the front door.

Leandra's mother began fanning herself with her hand as if she couldn't breathe. "What are we going to do with that child?" she asked frantically of her husband.

"I'll have another talk with him, love" Aristide assured her. "He is just young and impetuous. Idealism is one of the many follies of youth. Give him time. He'll come to understand how the world really works."

Leandra gulped back freshly formed tears. She hated it when her brother started such fights with their parents. She used her napkin to dab at the tea that had spilled out next to her saucer then carefully wiped her cup with it before quietly taking another sip. Her mother had been so overcome with "the vapours", as the physician liked to call her fainting spells, that her father had to carry her up to their room leaving Leandra alone. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a clean spot of her serviette before heading out to find her brother.

Leandra didn't have to look far to locate Gamlen. He was sitting on one of the stone benches in the garden staring blankly at the rose bushes. A twig that the servants neglected to pick up from the ground snapped beneath Leandra's foot causing her brother to turn his eyes to her. "Let me guess," he snarked. "Mother had another one of her fainting spells."

Leandra waggled her head as she took a seat next to him. "Why do you do that Gamlen? You know how much it upsets mother when you say such things."

"Because I'm sick and tired of her being such an elitist prig."

Leandra gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "Gamlen! You shouldn't say such things about Mother."

He shrugged. "Well, it's true. Look how much coin she and father spend on clothes and lavish parties. There are so many people in Kirkwall who are in need and they just throw their money away on frivolities. Mother looks down her nose to everyone. It's not right, Leandra."

"You know that she will probably get the Grand Cleric involved after what you said about the Chantry."

He harrumphed. "Doubtful. It would be too embarrassing. Imagine the scandal if her friends found out. Mother won't do anything if it could possibly cause tongues to wag about her."

"I suppose you're right," his sister sighed.

Gamlen scowled. "So how do you really feel about all of that? The Chantry and the mages, I mean?"

Leandra chewed her lower lip for a moment, nervous from the weight of judgment in her brother's eyes. Nobody ever asked her opinions on such matters. Most of the time, she just sat in silence, listening to one side or another of her family rant about those types of things. She usually preferred to stay out of it, in the hopes that she could avoid having anyone angry at her.

"Well," she began quietly. "The Chantry says that mages are dangerous. Because of their magic, they are constantly at risk for being lured by demons. Without the Chantry and the templars there to watch over them, they would give into temptation."

"And you honestly believe that?"

"Yes."

He sneered. "Then you, sister, are part of the problem as well. Though I shouldn't be surprised. You always do exactly as Mother tells you. Mother's delicate little flower. Do you even have a mind of your own?"

Gamlen's words stung Leandra to her very core. "That's not fair, Brother."

He waggled his head and turned his attention back to the roses. "Just go. I don't feel like wasting my breath anymore today."

Leandra's shoulders slumped as her tears began to dampen her cheeks. Why did she have to open her mouth? She should have given a noncommittal response. She should have never told him her opinion. The worst part was, she feared that he was right. Was that really how she felt? Or did she hold that opinion because it was what was expected of her?

As she made her way back to the front of the house, Leandra wondered if there would ever come a day when she no longer questioned herself. Would she ever find her own voice or was she doomed to remain forever silent in an effort to try to please everyone around her? She knew that Guilliaume would prefer for her to stay exactly as she was, a quiet, obedient, dutiful woman who he could place upon his mantle as a trophy for all to see…another status symbol.

Leandra's tears flowed faster at that thought. She saw no way out of the life that had been laid out for her. Her future was written in stone and there was nothing she could do to change it.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun hung low over the ocean through the twin statues that stood as the sentinels of the city. Nightfall couldn't come fast enough for Malcolm as he stood just out of sight near the warehouse's small loading dock. The sooner the job was completed, the sooner they could leave Kirkwall behind.

The smell of saltwater and dead fish assaulted his nostrils, causing him to scowl in disgust. Malcolm hated everything about that stinking cesspool of a city, and the pungent aroma was the least of it. For one thing, the nobles of the city turned a blind eye to the crime and poverty of Lowtown, content to remain in their Hightown estates in glorious obliviousness to the plight of their needier counterparts. But the worst part about the city lay just beyond the channel in a fortress called the Gallows. Once a prison to slaves of the Tevinter Imperium, the Gallows had become the most infamous Circle in all of Thedas, holding mages captive instead of elven slaves. Growing up in the Tower of Magi of Ferelden, Malcolm had heard all the horror stories regarding the Kirkwall Circle and the many abuses the mages there had to suffer. He knew well enough to know he never wanted to be captured by a templar from that horrid place.

A cold shiver ran up his spine as he spied the great stone stronghold across the water. A warm ocean breeze picked up, shifting the stink in Malcolm's direction with even greater intensity. Tufts of ebony hair fluttered in the wind as his hazel eyes began to water. In an effort to block the foul odor, he pulled the red kerchief that was tied around his neck up across the heavy, dark stubble of his chin and cheeks to cover his nose. It didn't do a lot to block the offending stench, but it was at least a minor improvement.

When he decided he could no longer stomach the sights and smells of the docks, Malcolm trod up the set of rickety wooden stairs to his right to join his fellows who were holed up in one of the upstairs offices. He didn't speak a word after he closed the door behind him. While the others chattered on about their families and what they were going to do with their pay after the job was completed, Malcolm paced nervously back and forth near the door. He couldn't help it. A nagging feeling of foreboding had settled into his gut that afternoon that he just couldn't seem to shake.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Meeran's dark brown eyes watching him beneath a thick dark fringe of hair. "Hey, Hawke," he finally ventured with a perturbed expression on his young, pockmarked face. "Why don't you take a seat before you wear a hole in the floor?"

"Yeah, Hawke. Sit down," Erick agreed. "My luck's for shit today. You may actually have a chance to beat me this time."

Malcolm shook his head. "No thanks. I barely have enough coin left to feed myself after the last time I played Wicked Grace with you, Strand."

In addition to being the leader of that particular group of mercenaries, Erick Strand was the best card player the young mage had ever had the misfortune of losing to. He often wondered if Erick cheated, but the man was too skilled to ever be caught doing so.

The other man chuckled, his slender frame shaking with the guffaw as a mischievous twinkle shone in his steely grey eyes. "Perhaps the Maker knows I need it more. I have a wife and kid to feed back home, remember?"

"That reminds me," Meeran smirked as he sorted the cards in his hand. "How_ is_ my son these days? What did you name him again?"

"Ignacio," Erick snorted, causing the hairs of his thick ginger mustache to vibrate under the weight of his breath. "As if Evangeline would ever let you within a hundred feet of her, Meeran. She has some standards, you know."

"Her standards must not be too high," Athenril chimed in. The elven woman's face was stone as she rearranged her cards, delivering her next quip without even the slightest hint of emotion. "She married your sorry ass, didn't she?"

"Jealous, Athens?" Erick asked, not bothering to even look up from his own hand.

"Of what?" she retorted casually. "I wouldn't give a plug copper for the lot of you idiots."

Meeran stood long enough to grab his crotch and make a rude gesture to the elf. "You know you want some of this."

Her thin brow arched beneath her mousy brown bangs. "Some of what? The dirty sock you keep stuffed in your smallclothes?" Her insult caused the others to burst out into laughter. She let the sound linger in the air for a few moments before her large, mossy green eyes darted between Meeran and Erick. "What you boys don't seem to understand is, I got plans. After this job, I'm finished with the Oars for good."

"Oh yeah?" Meeran questioned with a doubtful tone. "What are you gonna do, Athens? Get a job at the Rose? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, with that face you should probably stick with mercenary work."

"Actually," Malcolm interjected, his mind temporarily taking a rest from his troubled thoughts. "She's going to be taking over for Duval."

"That fat bastard's finally going to retire from the smuggling business?" Meeran chortled. "What is he now? A hundred and fifty?"

"I've been saving my wages for the last couple of years," Athenril explained. "I made him a good offer and he took it."

"Yeah, I can just imagine what kind of offer you made him," Meeran grunted. "Let your blades do your talking for you?"

The elf flashed a wry smile. "Let's just say he had a vested interest in keeping his balls where they were."

"And you really think Royer's just going to let you quit?" Erick questioned. "Just like that?"

"I already talked to him about it," Athenril confessed as she dealt out the cards for another round. "He wished me well."

"And when were you planning on telling us?" Erick asked. Malcolm could tell the man was attempting to keep his countenance even, but he knew Erick well enough to discern the fact that her admission had cut him to the quick.

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably as she pretended to once again concentrate on her cards. "I planned on telling you…right after we were finished with this job."

Erick turned his steely gaze to Malcolm, disappointment coloring his features. "And you knew about this? Why didn't _you _say anything?"

Malcolm shrugged. "It wasn't my news to tell."

Meeran, whose deep brown eyes had been boring holes into Athenril's skull since the moment he realized she was actually serious about leaving the Oars, slammed his cards down on the worn wooden surface of the table. His lips curled into a sneer and Malcolm fully expected him to begin raving as he was sometimes prone to do. Instead, he remained quiet for several moments before retrieving his hand and bursting into entirely too loud and obvious laughter.

"Is something funny, Meeran?" queried the elf.

"Yeah…the idea of you quitting the Oars to run your own smuggling ring. You had me worried there for a minute, Athens."

"Really?" she drawled with a bored expression. "And what made that change?"

Meeran gave her a tight-lipped grin that border lined a contemptuous sneer. "Because you don't stand a chance. You'll be flat broke this side of three months, groveling to get your old job back."

Athenril smacked her full lips with an annoyed pop and rolled her eyes. "Sure, Meeran…whatever you say."

It was at that point that Malcolm excused himself from the room and went back to watching the dock before things became anymore heated and he became caught in the middle. He knew exactly why Meeran had behaved the way he did as well as he knew the real reason behind Athenril's departure from the Crimson Oars. She told Malcolm that it was because she was tired of the life of a mercenary, but it was a lie. The real reason she was leaving was Erick.

The four of them had been together since Malcolm joined the Oars four years prior, right after he escaped the Tower of Magi in Ferelden. Royer had just named Erick captain of their squad after their previous leader met with an unfortunate end. Two years before that, Erick and Athenril had joined the Oars within a few weeks of each other and actually trained together directly under Royer. Then Meeran was recruited the following year. There were others, of course, but they came and went. Some were put in other squads, some died, and others just disappeared after they discovered that they couldn't stomach the life of a hired sword, but through it all Malcolm, Meeran, Erick and Athenril stayed together. The other three became the family that Malcolm never had. They never looked down on him for having magic, choosing instead to protect him from any templars that discovered he was an apostate.

Malcolm was still in training when it became painfully obvious to him that the other three had a bit of a love triangle going on. Meeran was head over heels for Athenril, while she only had eyes for Erick, who chose to ignore that fact completely. Then, about three years prior, while doing a job in Antiva, Erick sustained a life threatening injury and the others were forced to leave him behind. Athenril refused at first, but Royer insisted, lest she lose her seniority and the pay that went along with it. She was given temporary leadership until Erick recovered, but she swore she would return for him as soon as the next assignment in Nevarra was finished.

By the time they returned to Antiva three months later, Erick had fallen in love with the Antivan woman who had nursed him back to health and they were married after she discovered she was carrying his child. Athenril was heartbroken. So heartbroken, in fact, that she got stinking drunk that night and shared a bed with Meeran. The next morning, she sought out Malcolm and confessed both her love for Erick and her repulsion at what she had done the previous evening. As for Meeran, his obsession with the elven woman became even greater, even though she told him many times that there was no chance in Thedas she would ever share a bed with him again. Because of all that, Malcolm wasn't surprised in the least when Athenril told him her plans to leave the Oars. She hadn't been the same since Erick married Evangeline. Her heart just wasn't in it anymore.

The last rays of the sinking sun were glistening across the water as Malcolm settled himself down the next to the small pier. He spotted a small merchant ship making its way through the channel and squinted his eyes to see if he could make out its colors. As soon as the flag was discernable he knew that it was definitely the ship they were expecting. The dwarves would be there soon, but not until all of the sailors had cleared the vessel.

Malcolm slowly stood before making his way back to the office. He opened the door long enough to let the others know that the ship had arrived before shutting it and shuffling his feet toward the entrance to the warehouse. Once he was standing at the doorway, he cracked the door open just enough to be able to watch for any signs of trouble in the shadows outside.

Just before the Chantry bells rang in the midnight hour, long after the others had abandoned their game and joined Malcolm by the entryway, the mage spotted movement in the darkness from an abandoned building on the other side of the docking bay. He motioned to his fellows to ready their weapons then quietly pulled his short swords out of their scabbards. He waited until only a handful of dwarven lookouts remained outside of the ship before slipping out the door into the shadows. While the other mercenaries crept to the dock where the merchant vessel was anchored, Malcolm and Meeran skirted around the positions of the guards and silently began slitting their throats.

Once the two men had disposed of the lookouts, they began making their way to the ship. Malcolm had just crossed the threshold where the wooden planks met the cobblestone when all hell broke loose. A loud explosion sounded from the inside the hull of the ship and black smoke began rising into the night sky.

"What the fuck was that?" Meeran bellowed.

"Lyrium explosives," Malcolm shouted over the din. He could feel the draw of their power crackling in the air around him. He ran toward the then sinking ship and spied the bodies of dwarves and men alike floating in the water surrounding it. His heart sank when he recognized long brown hair dancing on the waves. He dropped to his knees and reached out to grab his elven companion, when she threw her head back and began gasping and sputtering, fighting for breath. "Athens! Take my hand!" he shouted to her.

Still coughing profusely, Athenril nodded her head in acknowledgement before grabbing Malcolm's wrist and allowing him to pull her to the dock. Just as he had heaved her out of the water, he spotted Erick a few feet away. His captain seemed little worse for wear, but was obviously a bit disoriented from the blast. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Malcolm watched the water behind Erick begin bubbling and then a dwarf break the surface armed with a blade meant to slice open the mercenary leader's throat. Without giving it a second thought, Malcolm threw out his free hand and blasted the would-be killer with a well-placed shard of ice. The dwarf froze on the spot and bobbed in the water for only a few seconds before Malcolm hit him with a stone fist spell, splintering the smaller man into hundreds of tiny fragments.

"Apostate!" he heard a female voice from behind him bark. "By the authority of the Knight-Commander, I order you to stop! Put down your weapons this instant and turn yourself in."

"Hawke," Athenril croaked with desperation and worry filling her green eyes. "You have to get out of here."

The elf knew as well as he did that if the templars caught him, he would be thrown in one of the dungeon cells of the Gallows where he would likely never again see the light of day, and that was only if they didn't decide to give him the brand. Without so much as a glance behind him, Malcolm bobbed his head and gave his old friend an appreciative smile just before taking a deep breath and plunging headfirst into the water.


	4. Chapter 4: Stars

The warehouse docks were in chaos and ruin by the time Meredith Stannard arrived with her men. They had been investigating a report of an apostate living in Lowtown earlier in the evening. The eyewitness account they had been given turned out to be nothing more than an idiotic accusation from a fool who wouldn't have known a mage from a sewer rat. The accused was actually a man running a shell game by using sleight of hand tricks to bilk unsuspecting denizens out of their coin. Meredith called for the city guard to apprehend the thief and the whole matter was dealt with in less than two hours. The templars were just preparing to board the ferry from the western docks when they heard the explosion and ran to the warehouse district to find out what had occurred.

Almost immediately upon descending the stairs, Meredith spied a young dark haired man wearing a charcoal grey duster with a wide red sash throwing spells into the water. She knew that the mage's sash identified him as a member of the Crimson Oars and cursed herself for not heeding a report that crossed her desk a few days earlier about an apostate hiding among the mercenary group.

She sped to the edge of the cobblestone, her long flaxen braid bouncing against her back, and cried out, "Apostate! By the authority of the Knight-Commander, I order you to stop! Put down your weapons this instant and turn yourself in."

The man hesitated for a moment and Meredith threw back a lyrium potion before drawing the two handed sword from the scabbard strapped to her back in preparation for his coming attack. She only managed a few steps forward before watching him dive into the water. The young Knight-Captain then ran to where the apostate had been only seconds before. She squinted her eyes in an effort to discern movement among the bodies floating near the remains of the burning merchant ship that was quickly sinking into the inky depths.

_Damn! _she cursed under her breath. Her metal blue eyes caught sight of an elven woman attempting to crawl away and Meredith grabbed her by the arm to haul her to her feet. She turned to one of her lieutenants who was standing nearby and slung the elf toward him. "Take her back to the Gallows for questioning," the Knight-Captain ordered.

Meredith walked the length of the dock and found there were a few survivors among the wreckage, but not one resembled the dark-haired mage. "Search the warehouses!" she demanded. "I want the apostate found."

She had no idea who the man was or any clue about his situation. She honestly didn't care to know. The only thing she cared about was finding him and taking him to the Circle. It was her duty to protect the people of Kirkwall from those with magic and nothing would sway her from that sacred trust.

The city guard arrived shortly after that and arrested all those on the docks who did not bear templar white or the uniforms of the guard. Once the living offenders were taken into custody, the remainder of the city patrol began fishing the dead from the water and piling their bodies onto the dock. Meredith watched with disinterest as she waited for her men to report back with the apostate. After a thorough search of the docks, warehouses, and fisheries they came up with nothing, not even a trace of the escaped mage.

It was nearly dawn before the Knight-Captain finally called off the search. Somehow, the apostate had managed to slip past her. She was not giving up on finding him, however. She would bide her time until he resurfaced. She knew the type all too well, mages hiding among mercenaries and smugglers. Men like that always turned up sooner or later. They couldn't resist throwing their freedom in the face of the watchers. It seemed to be a challenge for them. The one thing Meredith was certain of was the fact that she had the righteousness of the Maker on her side. Good would always triumph over evil in the end.

She slowly walked to the edge of the dock and placed her arm atop one of the low wooden posts that smaller ships would use as a tie-off. She took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the ocean, before peering up at the waning stars above her head. Meredith had always enjoyed looking at the night sky. It always made her feel closer to the Maker to do so, and even in a den of iniquity such as Kirkwall, the stars watched over the devout not unlike sentinels. They never wavered. They simply stood guard. The Knight-Captain took comfort in the fact that, even though the apostate remained free in that moment in time, the stars would see him and the Maker would know his whereabouts. She recalled the tales her mother told her when she was a girl.

_Do you know what stars are, Meri? They are the spirits of the brave and valiant who have died. They are the Maker's knights, his personal guards watching everything we do and hearing every prayer we pray. And every morning before they go to bed, they report back to Him. That's how He knows our prayers, Meri, and our sins. So if you are a really good girl and keep a true and valiant heart, maybe someday you will be able to join those knights._

Meredith's heart sank at the memory of her mother. She was a good and decent woman who died too young at the hand of her own loving nature. Her parents' death was the very reason Meredith became a templar. Her older sister Amelia was always a frail girl, prone to sickness and bedridden for a great deal of her childhood. When Amelia was eleven and Meredith eight, she began to show signs of magical ability. Suddenly, she was able to leave her bed and go outside to play with the other children and strange things began happening around their home. Meredith remembered overhearing her father trying to convince her mother that Amelia needed to go to the Circle, but the older woman refused. She feared for her child, saying that Amelia would never be able to survive the Circle and the templars given her delicate nature. After what seemed like hours of debate, Meredith's father finally gave in and agreed that Amelia should remain at home.

Over the next year, Meredith watched as her sister changed. Amelia's demeanor became dark and brooding. She stopped playing with the other children and would often wander the streets of Kirkwall alone, sometimes in the middle of the night. Meredith would try to talk to her sister, as they had always been close, but Amelia would just sneer at her and tell her to leave her be.

Then, it happened. Meredith had been attending her lessons with Mother Elthina at the Chantry that day and stopped by sweets shop in the Hightown Market to buy a treat with the two coppers the Mother had given her for excelling on a particularly difficult exam. When she arrived home, the door was wide open which she found a bit odd, but shrugged it off as being nothing more than her mother trying to air out the house. She walked inside and called for her parents, but received no answer save a low, rumbling growl from their bedroom. Thinking one of them might be sick, Meredith ran to her mother and father's room. The sight that met her immediately brought tears to her eyes and fear to her heart.

The walls of the small room were painted with splatters of crimson that left nothing untouched. The smell of coppery death assaulted the young girl's nose causing the chocolate she had just finished eating to stain the front of her white linen dress. Her bright blue eyes fell upon the bed where her parents lay in a river of blood. It looked as if they had both been mauled by a wild animal, with deep gashes and rips littering both of their bodies. Her mother's flaxen hair stuck to her face in sticky black clumps from the large hole in her skull. Meredith absentmindedly grabbed onto the doorjamb to support her wobbly knees as her vision began fading. She couldn't breathe. She felt a scream trying to escape her throat, but she had become paralyzed by fear and shock.

Suddenly movement in the shadow of the far corner caught her eye. She wanted to run, but her trembling legs wouldn't budge. Her eyes went wide as she saw her sister come into her view. Amelia's eyes, normally a pale green, had turned jetstone black. Her face was twisted into a malevolent sneer that made Meredith's blood run completely cold. In her hand was a long dagger, coated in blood that fell in large drips to the wooden floor.

"Amy?" Meredith finally managed with a small squeak. Her sister did not answer, but continued to step slowly toward her. "Amy?" she repeated, her voice shaking nearly as much as the rest of her. "Amy, it's me…Meri."

There was no response, just cold, ebony eyes staring down at her. Amelia was only a few steps away when she suddenly lunged at Meredith, grabbing hold of one of the smaller girl's long blonde pigtails. She used the braid to pull her sister to her chest and placed the knife to Meredith's throat. A bright blue light began to permeate the room, making Meredith shut her eyes tight to protect them from the glow. Her neck, soon followed by the rest of her body, became cold, as if she had plunged into the iciest depths of the ocean. She swallowed hard and felt a bite on her neck then fluid drip down from the bite to the top of her chest. The young girl began to whimper softly as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Amy?" she finally managed though it caused the blade at her throat to dig deeper into her flesh. "Please don't do this. Please."

All at once, the blue glow dissipated and Meredith felt a hand in her back shove her to the floor. She grabbed her neck and rolled over onto her side in time to see Amelia run out the door. She knew she should have run after her sister, but she was incapable of picking herself off the floor because she was sobbing too profusely. Meredith vomited several more times as she lay there weeping. After a while, she crawled to her parents' bed and pulled herself up the side. She inched her way over her mother's lifeless body to lay between her parents, then nuzzled her head against her mother's chest. The woman's skin was so cold as Meredith pulled the bloody arm around her shoulders and cried herself to sleep.

Sometime later, the little girl was awoken in the dark when someone picked her up and carried her out of the house. She rubbed the sleep from her puffy eyes, thankful that the terrible dream she was having was finally over. She snuggled in closer to who she thought was her father, but his scent was off somehow. Then she heard voices.

"First Enchanter, how is she?" Meredith immediately recognized Elthina's voice.

"She had a nasty cut along her throat, but it was fairly simple to heal. Most of the blood…it came from her parents."

The little girl felt a gentle hand stroke her head. "The poor child. Would you mind carrying her back to the Chantry? I really don't want to wake her. She's been through enough."

"She was lucky to have survived, given what that monster did to the others. Has there been a final body count yet?"

Elthina sighed. "Seventy-two in all, including the Stannards."

"At least it wasn't seventy-three," the man pointed out.

Meredith kept her eyes shut as tightly as she could the entire way to Hightown, as fresh tears began to dampen her blood stained cheeks. It wasn't a dream after all. Her parents were dead, killed by her own sister. She never asked, but she discovered later that Amelia had been an abomination and was taken down by the templars after she murdered seventy more people in Lowtown.

As for Meredith, she remained in the Chantry where the sisters raised her. Mother Elthina became Grand Cleric Elthina before the year ended, but she always took time for Meredith when the girl needed her. Meredith stayed in the confines of the Chantry until her sixteenth name day. Upon that day, she was moved to the Gallows to train as a templar and took her vows a month after she reached eighteen. After what happened to her family, Meredith never wanted to be anything else. Unlike most girls her age, she had no desires to be married or raise a family. The only thing she cared about was ensuring that no other little girl would ever be made to suffer the horror that she had endured. She knew without a doubt that left to their own devices, mages would give into the demons that were constantly trying to gain a foothold in the world. They had to be taught. They had to be watched vigilantly and when they became a threat, they had to be struck down without mercy.

"Knight-Captain," a deep male voice rang in her ear, bringing her back to the present. "Are you ready to return to the Gallows? The Knight-Commander will be expecting your report."

Meredith nodded solemnly before turning to the young lieutenant. "Yes, Lancaster. Tell the others I will be right there."

As she watched the man walk away, her resolve tightened to an even greater degree. The memories of her parents and her sister served as a reminder to Meredith how important it was that the apostate was captured and brought under the templars' scrutiny. Kirkwall would never be safe as long as he remained out of custody, and the Knight-Captain was determined to see to it personally that he was put behind bars where he belonged.


End file.
